


Terrible NHS Schemes

by Dracothelizard



Category: Arts & Sciences RPF, Horrible Histories
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Hospitals, M/M, Medical Procedures, historical medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: Written for the HHanon kinkmeme back in 2011.Prompt: Ben Goldacre, Historical HospitalBen turns up at work to find Montague Fuzzlepeck feeding his patients wee. Over the course of the day, he witnesses enough useless and/or terrifying treatments to make his head explode, and everything culminates in one of his trademark 90mph arm-flailing rants. Some interaction with Nigel and Geoff would be good too, if you can fit it in.





	Terrible NHS Schemes

When Ben came into work, sipping from his coffee and checking his Twitter on his phone with one eye, he went straight into his office.   
  
It was there, five minutes later, that he realised that there had been an _awful_ lot of people in historical costume outside.  
  
And it wasn't even Halloween.  
  
He stuck his head out the door, and sipped from his coffee again. Had a local re-enactment group had an accident? But then the people in historical costume weren't the ones waiting to be seen. In fact... in fact, the people in costumes were the ones taking the waiting, normal, people away.   
  
He sidled over to Linda, the receptionist. "Hey."  
  
She looked up. "Oh, morning, Dr. Goldacre."  
  
"Yes, yes, er, do you know what's going on here with all the-" He gestured at a man who was dressed in something he usually saw in the latest Jane Austen adaptation. "That?"  
  
Linda nodded. "Yes, it's some new government scheme. You know, use traditional medicine because it's just as effective as what we currently have. So, we have a couple of Georgians, some medieval doctors, one chap from the first World War, two Vikings, and a bunch of Victorians." She smiled at Ben. "Does that answer your question?"  
  
"I - what?" He stared at her.   
  
She patted him on the hand. "I know, Dr. Goldacre. I know." She shrugged. "I expect they'll be out of here in a week."   
  
A week was too long.  
  
*  
  
He lurked in his office for another five minutes, trying to find out more about this new government scheme, and asking people on Twitter if they had any idea what was going on. One guy called 'Lazbotron' told him it was because the time sewers were acting up again, which explained exactly _nothing_.   
  
He finished his coffee, glared at his computer, then left the office to see some patients. They needed someone who knew what he was doing, after all.  
  
*  
  
After he helped two people, he decided to surreptiously check on what those historical ones were doing, and he followed two Vikings who had taken someone with them who had fallen off their bicycle.  
  
"So, you fell off your horse?" the taller one asked.  
  
The anxious teenage boy shook his head. "No, no, I told you, I fell off my bicycle on the pavement! My mate brought me here, I'm feeling a bit woozy."  
  
A concussion could be very serious, but at least the boy was able to explain things clearly. That was good. Ben stood in the doorway to watch them.  
  
The other Viking was inspecting the head wound. "Hmm, doesn't look _too_ deep, but we'd best check."  
  
That was a sensible thing to do. Ben wondered how they would do that. Would they just touch the wound? Or would they -   
  
Ah, they _licked_ the wound.   
  
The teenage boy jerked his head away. "Oi!"   
  
The Viking, however, kept him firmly in place. "I need to check your wound, young man!"   
  
"Not by _licking_ it, you pervert!" The teenage boy turned, and saw Ben stand in the doorway. "You look normal, can't you look at it?"  
  
The two Vikings finally realised Ben was there as well. "Who are you, young man?"   
  
Ben blinked. It'd been a while since he had been called that. "Dr. Goldacre, I work here."   
  
"Oh God, you're the angry one?" the teenage boy asked. "You're not gonna shout at me, are you?"   
  
Ben sighed. "No, I won't. Come on, let's clean up your wound and see if you have a concussion."   
  
As he led the teenager away, the two Vikings looked at each other, and then glared at Ben.

*

As he made the teenager wait in the waiting room for his mum to pick him up, Ben couldn't help but notice someone loudly saying that they needed the finest urine in one of the wards.  
  
Either this was someone who needed to go to psychiatric ward or...  
  
Another historical one. Ben had to admit that the wig was certainly something, but the way he was telling one of the nurses to fetch them urine was too disconcerting.   
  
"And how are we doing today?" Ben asked, as he went to stand by the bed of the patient, who looked bewildered.   
  
"They would be _fine_ if only that young man could get me some urine!" the Georgian doctor said.  
  
Ben exchanged a glance with the nurse, who was definitely not a man, and shrugged at her. "Get some apple juice," he said quietly.  
  
She nodded, and left.   
  
"And who are you?" Ben asked.  
  
"I am Montague Fuzzlepeck, one of the King's personal physicians," the other doctor exclaimed.  
  
"Which one, then?" Ben had picked up the patient's charts. High fever, low blood pressure... could be anything.   
  
"Our beloved George the Third, of course." Montague beamed proudly.   
  
Ben looked up. "The _mad_ one?"   
  
Montague spluttered at that. "Yes, well, his Majesty certainly has his moments, but us royal physicians take the best care of him! We've struck him with an iron poker twice today, and he's doing much better!"   
  
Ben blinked, and vaguely wished he had the time to see King George III. "Yes, well, I should hope you're not planning to do any of that here."  
  
Montague snorted loudly. "Oh, of _course_ not! This man isn't mad, after all." He chuckled. "He's only suffering from the tumour!"  
  
Ben looked back at the chart. It didn't mention any cancer on here. "Don't worry," he told the suddenly worried-looking patient. "You haven't got any tumours."   
  
" _I_ will be the judge of that!" Montague cried out.   
  
Just then, the nurse returned with the apple juice. "Shall I just give this to the patient?" she asked.  
  
"Oh yes, please do, this man needs urine immediately!"   
  
The patient looked up at Ben and the nurse, and Ben just smiled. "Don't worry, it's safe," he said quietly. "Apple juice."   
  
Montague had busied himself with the flowers by the patient's bedside. "Now, drink up!"   
  
The patient did drink the apple juice, and Montague nodded happily. "Excellent, that should take care of it!" He wandered off, and the nurse immediately went after him.  
  
"You look after him?" she asked, gesturing at the patient.  
  
Ben nodded, and glanced back at the chart, trying to figure out what to do.

*

Ben had his lunch break an hour after that, and morosely at his sandwich in the cafeteria. There were various historical people around as well, and he didn't want to know what they were having for lunch.  
  
"Good day, may I sit with you?"   
  
Ben looked up to find a large man dressed in robes and wearing a turban stand there, and he nodded. "Sure, sure. So, where are you from?"  
  
"12th century Arabia," the man said. "I've just dealed with a woman's leg abscess. Rather nasty."  
  
Well, there went his appetite for his lunch, then. He sipped from his coffee. "And what did you do with her? Cut off her leg? Weed on it? Licked it?"   
  
The man stared at him. "Are you a mad man?" he asked. "No, I put some soothing healing herbs on it."   
  
Ben considered this. The Arabs were better at healing in the middle ages than most of Europe. "Which ones?"  
  
As the Arabian healer explained, Ben found himself nodding at them. Most of them were plants that the pharmaceutical industry had turned into proper medicine. It wouldn't help as much in plant form, but it was definitely better than nothing, and a whole lot better than some of the other cures.   
  
"Have you seen some of the others?" Ben asked.  
  
The healer nodded. "Oh yes, I spend most of my time trying to sort out the mess your medieval doctor is making." He tutted. "I've taken his saw away, but I think he got an axe from the Vikings. Unfortunate business."   
  
Ben just sighed. "We need to find a way to stop this mess."

*

While the Arabian healer went back to work, Ben spent his time lurking outside various wards and stopping the historical doctors from doing too much damage.   
  
He left the Victorian duo to their bacon-baking. Nothing bad could come from that, after all.  
  
And that Egyptian Dr. Isis fellow _was_ a bit weird, but like the Arabian healer he seemed to know what he was doing. The patient was a little less happy about having honey smeared on the shallow wound on her arm, but it was better than nothing, and the myrtle leaves were doing the trick as well.   
  
It was the Stuart doctors who made him snap in the end.   
  
A patient requiring resuscitation was something that made everyone panic, even if they knew what they had to do and how to do it. Ben wasn't directly involved, but he was keeping an eye out for the historical people wanting to interfere. Most of them stayed clear of the patient, except two determined men who were carrying some type of bellow, a tube, and, even worse, a smoking pipe.  
  
"This is a hospital, there's no smoking in here," Ben said, physically pushing them out of the room.  
  
"It's not for _us_ ," the shorter one replied. "It's for the patient!"  
  
Ben took a deep breath. "They're not going to do any smoking any time soon."  
  
The taller one laughed at that. "Oh, it's not for smoking, is it, Nigel?"  
  
Nigel laughed as well. "Of course not, Geoff, that'd be silly!" He beamed at Ben, who was eyeing them both nervously. "We're going to blow it up their arse."  
  
Ben just stared at them for a while. "...What?"   
  
The taller one, Geoff, took the bellows. "We'll take this tube, insert it into the patient's derriere, and then blow smoke up it. It's an excellent cure for apparent death."   
  
Nigel beamed at him. "Now, may we _please_ save the patient's life before it's too late?"   
  
"This is a very serious matter," Geoff added.   
  
"Right." Right, he had _had_ it with these weirdos. "Get out. Get out of this hospital, get out of my _life_ , and please, _please_ get out of medicine! You're clearly rubbish at it, you've got no idea what you're doing, no idea why you're doing what you're doing and if it works, and if it works, why it works!"  
  
"Excuse me-" Nigel started.  
  
"No, no, I will _not_ excuse you! We have got plenty of quacks in this century as it is, I'm not having any more." Ben glared at them. "You and your lot are not coming anywhere near our patients until you have done a proper experiment, with a proper methodology and well thought-out control group and experiment group, and if you haven't got a good statistical analysis, then a tube up your arse will be the least of your worries."   
  
Nigel and Geoff stared at him as Ben caught his breath. "A methodo-what now?" Nigel asked.   
  
"OUT!" Ben shouted. "All of you, out!" He started to shove them both out of the hallway. "You probably don't even know what a placebo _is_ , do you? Or a systematic review? God, no wonder you people think blowing smoke up someone's arse is a good idea. You won't get anywhere without evidence-based medicine, when are you going to realise that?"   
  
"Is he all right?"   
  
Ben turned at the new voice, belonging to some Victorian. "I am not all right, no!"   
  
The Victorian nodded at him. "Clear case of hysteria, from the looks of it."  
  
"I am not hysteric! It's not my fault I'm surrounded by lunatics!"  
  
"You know what's a good cure for hysteria?" The Victorian remarked calmly. "Orgasm. Works wonders on women."   
  
Ben stared at him for a moment. "Are you _hitting_ on me?"

The Victorian just stared back, equally surprised. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"   
  
"Will it make you stop trying to heal people?" Ben asked, before he could reconsider. He was a terrible fighter, preferring to shout rather than anything more physical.   
  
"Tomorrow at dawn, sir," the Victorian told him, smirking. "I shall bring my duelling pistols. Don't worry about any wound infections, we'll pour some porridge over it and it'll be fine."  
  
And that was when Ben may have slightly punched the other man in the face.  
  
*  
  
"Ben, you do know you're an idiot, right?"  
  
Ben glared at Robin Ince, who had turned up at Ben's bedside with a cheap bouquet of flowers. "Shut up."   
  
"You don't punch a Victorian doctor in the face, of course he's going to fight back."   
  
"He was being an idiot." An idiot with a _really_ strong left hook. He had needed several stitches, and afterwards that Dr. Isis had poured honey over it.   
  
Robin just raised an eyebrow. "You've never punched Andrew Wakefield in the face."   
  
Ben's hands twitched. "Yes, and I'm still not sure why."   
  
"On the bright side, your little altercation does mean a stop to the experiment in this hospital," Robin told him. "Something about it bringing unneeded stress to the modern physicians."  
  
Thank God. "At least it wasn't for nothing."   
  
Robin just snorted. "You haven't heard about the next scheme."   
  
Robin's smirk made Ben slightly afraid. "Which is?"  
  
"I'm not sure if I should tell you in your stressed condition. Your blood pressure is high enough as it is."  
  
"Tell. Me."   
  
Robin just grinned. "Homeopaths."   
  
But before Ben could fly into another full rage, Robin was able to close the door, and started to apply that good old Victorian cure for hysteria.


End file.
